Page 30 of Outside the Room
"Just focus on the investigation," Channing advised. "I'll run interference with the press as much as possible." She checked her watch. "I've got a briefing with the U.S. Attorney in twenty minutes. Keep me updated on any developments, no matter how small."
As Channing walked away, Isla turned back to the port, watching the steady flow of commerce that continued despite the shadow of murder hanging over it all. She couldn't shake the feeling that the case was slipping away from them, evidence potentially disappearing with each container that left the yard.
"This feels wrong," she said quietly. "We're missing something important, and now we're racing against both a killer and a clock."
Sullivan nodded his gaze following the movement of workers across the vast yard. "We still have our best lead—figuring out what Whitman and Pearce found in those manifests. Everything else connects back to that."
"How do we want to divide this?" Isla asked, mentally organizing priorities. "We can't be everywhere at once, especially now that operations have resumed."
Sullivan considered for a moment. "I'll coordinate with Canadian authorities about Bradley's connections across the border. His smuggling operation had to have distribution networks we haven't identified yet." He paused. "You're better with the data analysis. Take the forensic accountants and review what partial records we do have. Look for patterns, connections to Nash Global or other companies Whitman flagged."
Isla nodded, appreciating the division of labor that played to their respective strengths. "I'll look for more weight discrepancies mentioned in Pearce's emails. If we can establish a pattern, maybe we can predict which containers might be part of whatever operation Whitman and Pearce uncovered."
"Good," Sullivan agreed. "We'll reconvene at noon to compare findings." He hesitated, then added, "We can do this, Rivers. Forty-eight hours is tight but not impossible."
The vote of confidence, however cautious, was unexpected coming from Sullivan. Isla offered a brief nod of acknowledgment, not trusting herself to respond without revealing how much the simple statement meant after months of doubt and recrimination.
As they parted ways, Isla headed toward the port authority building where the forensic accountants would be set up in a temporary workspace. The brilliant winter sun cast her shadow long across the frozen ground, a solitary figure moving against the backdrop of massive ships and towering container stacks.
Somewhere in that industrial maze was the answer they sought—the connection between manifest discrepancies, smuggling, and two murders. Isla squared her shoulders against the biting cold, determination replacing the momentary doubt.
Forty-eight hours wasn't much time, but it would have to be enough. She didn't intend to fail again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By mid-morning, Isla's temporary workspace in the port authority building had transformed into an analyst's war room. Printouts of shipping manifests covered one wall, organized chronologically, and color-coded by shipping company. A whiteboard displayed a growing list of weight discrepancies alongside vessel names and dates. Her laptop screen showed a complex spreadsheet tracking patterns in the available data.
Working alongside her, forensic accountant Trevor Patel had proven to be exactly the partner she needed—meticulous, intuitive, and able to spot numerical anomalies that would escape most observers. His background in both finance and global shipping made him invaluable for this particular investigation.
"Here's another one," Trevor said, adding a notation to the whiteboard. "Container NSGU-4576932 registered to Nash Global Shipping. Documented weight at departure from Rotterdam was 16,475 kilograms. Recorded weight upon arrival in Duluth: 16,510 kilograms."
"Thirty-five-kilogram difference," Isla noted, adding the information to her spreadsheet. "That's consistent with the pattern we're seeing."
"It doesn't make sense," Trevor mused, studying the growing data set. "If someone were smuggling contraband, you'd expect weights to be higher at origin and lower at destination—not the reverse."
Isla nodded, having wondered the same thing. "Unless the weight difference is deliberate. A marking system of some kind."
Trevor's eyes lit with understanding. "A way to flag specific containers without raising obvious red flags. Brilliant and insidious."
"Exactly," Isla agreed. "The question is: what are they marking, and why?"
They continued methodically through the records, focusing specifically on Nash Global Shipping since the company's name had appeared repeatedly in the fragments of documentation recovered from Whitman and Pearce's emails.
A pattern emerged with uncomfortable clarity. Over the past six months, dozens of Nash Global containers showed the same anomaly—weight discrepancies between 30 and 40 kilograms, always heavier upon arrival than at departure. The differences were small enough to be dismissed as measurement error but consistent enough to suggest deliberate action.
"This can't be coincidence," Isla said, surveying the accumulated evidence. "Nash Global containers show this pattern repeatedly. Containers from other companies don't."
"And it's not just the weight discrepancies," Trevor added, pulling up a company profile on his tablet. "I've been researching Nash Global's corporate structure while we worked. In the past three years, they've acquired seven smaller shipping operations throughout the Great Lakes region."
He handed Isla the tablet, which displayed a map of shipping routes with Nash Global's acquisitions highlighted. "They've basically consolidated control over specific routes between U.S. and Canadian ports, particularly routes that handle high-value electronic components and pharmaceutical shipments."
Isla studied the map, noting the strategic positioning of Nash Global's operations. "They're creating a corridor they control completely," she observed. "Perfect for moving items that need to avoid standard inspection protocols."
"There's more," Trevor continued, swiping to a different document. "Gregory Nash, the CEO, has extensive political connections. A major donor to the governor's campaign fund. Board member for three regional economic development councils. Advisory position with the Great Lakes Trade Commission."
The implications settled uncomfortably in Isla's mind. A shipping company with political connections, strategic control of specific trade routes, and containers consistently showing unexplained weight discrepancies. Add two murdered customs inspectors who had been investigating those very discrepancies, and the pattern became disturbingly clear.
"We need to look at Nash's background more thoroughly," she decided. "And we should cross-reference his company's operations with Bradley's smuggling routes. There might be overlap we haven't identified yet."
